Chapter 1.

A CHANCED ENCOUNTER 

“Violet, are you even listening to me?” The voice of Connor, my boyfriend interrupted my train of thoughts. I blinked repeatedly and faced him with a fake smile plastered on my face. Connor bored me out most times as he liked to talk so much about himself. Most times he was often occupied with it that he never noticed when I zoned out of the conversation. Seems like today was an exception.

“I'm sorry my dear. You were saying?” I mustered the most saccharine smile I could manage that I hoped screamed ‘I am crazy about my boyfriend.’

Instead of my smile to elicit a smile from him, his face twisted in anger and lips upturned in disgust.

“Don't tell me you were thinking about your paintings again?” He asked. 

I gulped and kept quiet because I was infact thinking about my paintings. Seriously, who knew that the type of green to paint a valley could be so confusing. I was leaning towards  Emerald , but I could hear my creative side telling me  Chartreuse   was better.

“When will you grow up Violet and get a real job?” He spat bitterly at me.

I recoiled, visibly in shock. I knew he always joked and called my paintings my ‘hippie’ lifestyle and also jokingly tells me to get a job, but he has never brandishly told me that me painting was not a real job. I felt like someone just smacked me on the face— hard.

“I'm sorry, what did you just say? Painting is a real job and my passion too. I have to love what I am doing to be able to call it a job." I fired back.

“And this is the reason I said you need to grow up. I am a hedge fund manager. What part of me screams I love my job? But I get up every waking day and go in to get the damn job done! Not because I love it, but because passion doesn't pay the bills! Act your age Violet Sanderson. We are no longer college students anymore. We are twenty-four year olds who need to plan our lives.” He said, his voice going up some decibels higher causing some patrons seated at the bar to turn their heads in our direction. 

I should have been ashamed at the attention we were garnering, but instead, I chuckled blithely, so much that a tear rolled down my eyes.

“I don't see what's funny in what I just said.” He frowned.

“Someone that will hear you speak would think that you hustled your way to the top. They wouldn't know that the hedge fund business is your family's business. You did nothing special to deserve it. You were simply born into the right family. The rest of us who didn't get that had to hustle our way around. I worked numerous odd jobs to keep myself afloat for this dream you call ‘immature’ and ‘childish’. So sorry if for once in my life, I just want to work on myself and my dreams. You know what? This is not working at all. We are better off without each other. Don't know why it took me so long to see that.” I took off the promise ring he gave me after college when he promised me that he will make me happy for the rest of my life. As the cynic I was I took it with little expectations and I am glad I did.

His brows furrowed in confusion, “You are breaking up with me because of something so trivial?”

“That exactly is why I am breaking up with you. Because you think this is something so trivial.” I replied him.

He sat still for some minutes possibly shocked at the turn this conversation has taken. I can't blame him though, because I shocked myself too by ending the relationship so easily. One wouldn't even believe we had been together for five years now. Connor wasn't always this bad. Yes, there were the occasional backhanded mockery everytime I came back from my part-time jobs in college. Statements like ‘Wait, you work at the Dominos close to college? Can you wear a mask because I don't want people to know my girlfriend works there. It would be insulting and the circle I roll with would make fun of me.' ‘Do you really have to do grocery shopping on off-sale days? I can afford it you know.’ I tossed those statements to he grew up with money, so he doesn't understand money problems. For this reason I never took a dime from him because he saw giving money to anyone as charity and I didn't want to be a charity case he bragged about picking up from the gutters.

 I wasn't dating him for marriage because my family has a down-on-luck syndrome when it came to love. I was dating him for companionship because I wanted someone to talk to when it got hard or when I felt down. As the years went by, he became more conceited and self-centered. It made the relationship suffocating and exhausting. It was at this point I knew I was done. I was tired of walking on eggshells and feeling suffocated like I can't breathe everytime I was around him. 

He stood up sharply and the stool he was seated on clattered on the floor. I sat there unfazed as I took a sip of my mocktail.

“I would love to see you survive without me when you don't have a real job.” He declared hotly.

“Seeing as I never collected a dime for you in our five years relationship, I should say I would do just fine.” I replied.

“You would beg me to come back to you and by then it would have been too late because...” He was saying when I snorted.

“I won't. Please, go already. You are dragging this longer than necessary.”

He stared at me for a full minute before stalking out angrily.

I turned back to the bar and kept sipping my margarita like what just happened didn't just happen.

“Thank you for saving my poor ears from hearing anything more about hedge fund. Some people just don't know when to shut it.” A deep voice that sounded like a rumble said from beside me.

I turned my head sharply and stared at the amber eyes of a guy with his full, black, curly hair. He was in a shirt and trousers. Three of his buttons were undone and his sleeves were rolled to his forearms. His jawline was sharp and his nose was so pointed. The perfect face that had me almost saying ‘Is that you Adonis?

“Rude much.” I replied back.

“Not even as rude as you were. The way you decimated him made me glad that I don't know you personally.” He chuckled lowly under his breath as he took a sip of his Malt Whiskey.

I shrugged my shoulder, “He had it coming though. How dare him call my love for painting childish? Thinking about it now just makes my blood boil. I don't...” I stopped talking at this point because I realized that I was talking to a stranger and everyone knows one of the first rule is ‘Don't over share, it's burdensome.'

“So, any chance for love again? Or you have sworn off a Happily ever after?” He asked, not pointing out that I stopped midway. Guess he was not so nosy after all.

“Oh, love is nice but I already know it's not for me. So, he didn't ruin me for other men if that's what you are asking. I already accepted that people like me don't get to find love anyways.” 

“Something we agree on. Cheers to that.” He raised the glass and I raised mine, then we clinked our glasses together.

“So, what is a young guy like you sitting here doing when you should be outside breaking hearts?” I teased the stranger wondering what inspired this my new found confidence to talk to a stranger so unabashedly.

“My personal assistant quit. She said I was too harsh in my criticisms and I told her that an office was not a kindergarten where one's hand needed to be held.” He said it so easily like he was someone who never took back statements he makes.

“Harsh.” I chuckled.

“Well, I didn't earn the name ‘Blunt-talking asshole’ to soften my words for people. I told her what to expect before I gave her the job, now, why did she retract on her stance and say I should have said it nicer? People are the problem, not me. You can't say you welcome criticism and get mad when you get it.” He said with an underlying tone that suggested there was more to it.

Not knowing what to reply to that, we just sat in silence, taking our drinks in silence. In a record time, he downed two cups of whiskey and stood up. His suit jacket was hung behind his chair. He took it and placed it in the crook of his left arm.

“Was nice having a companion and witnessing the most bizarre breakup ever. This is the most I have been entertained in a while.” He said and started walking away.

“Wait, I didn't get your name.” I hollered at his retreating frame.

He turned back, did a mock salute and said, “Ask me if our paths crossed again.”

“And why can't you tell me now?” I asked, puzzled at his reply.

“Because where is the fun in that? I love a good game.” With that, he left the bar.

I felt a fuzzy feeling that I haven't felt in a really long time. So long that I had even forgotten what it felt like.

Who was this guy and why did his aura captivate me so much?

                                                            *********************

“You know you don't have to work, right ? Also, If it's because of what Connor, that dumb ass, told you about growing up and finding a job, you know you don't have to listen to that knucklehead?” Annie, my roommate and best mate since diaper days urged me. She's always been a constant in my life since our childhood. She was the one who held my hands as I cried my eyes out after losing my mom at age thirteen to Cancer. My Dad already died three years after my birth, so losing my mom branded me with the tag known as ‘an orphan.’ Everyone kept telling me it was fine and that I shouldn't cry, so I held it in for the longest time. I didn't even shed a tear as I watched my mom's body lowered into the ground nor did my voice shake when I was asked to say a few words about the deceased. That evening as the crowd thinned significantly, I sat at the threshold staring at my mom's flower garden wondering how I was going to keep them alive now she was no more. Then, Annie sat beside me and said ‘I would cry hard if I lost you. So, I can't imagine how you feel losing your mom. You can cry, it's just two of us.’ Then like a dam burst open, all the tears rushed out with any inhibition. All through this, she didn't flinch and held my hands. She was the one that made me feel like there was strength even in one's weakest moments. After college where she studied Business Management, we moved into our apartment and she went back to Culinary school because it has always been her dream to be a chef. Annie was home to me because only with her do I feel like I can be at my weakest. Plus, she has been my biggest cheerleader when it comes to my artist's dream.

“I never liked that know-it-all anyway.” Raine chipped in. She was plucking the hairs overgrown around her brows. As a makeup artist and a skin care consultant, she was particular about everything being perfect. Annie and I met her at one Creative workshop and we've been joined at the hips since then. Raine moved in here with us because she was saving for her own Make-up Studio and she needed to cut down her expenses, and rent was the first and major expense. She was the perfect balance to our dual friendship. Now, we were the trio who jokingly refer to ourselves as the ‘Three Musketeers.’

“Guys, this is not because of Connor. Forgive me if this is rude, but right now, he is a blip in my past.” I adjusted the collar of my white chiffon top and tugged at my skirt a bit down because I was worried that I'll look sultry, even though that was not my intent. 

“So, why are you getting a job now? I thought you said the corporate life is not for you and you'll rather chew your toenails than work in the corporate space for just one day?” Annie said, reminding me about the day I quit working at a Burger joint because the Boss thought because he paid me salary, gave him the right to feel me up. I kicked him in the nuts and quit that day. 

“I admit I might have been rash that day in my speech because my temper was rising, but I feel that it's too quick to judge the corporate world experience based off one sleazeball.” I sat on the bed and put on my red bottom stiletto Annie got me as a birthday gift last year.

“But applying as a Personal Assistant to Ryan Falcon? That's one of the biggest enterprise in New York City and I feel like you won't have time to focus on your art. I don't...” Raine was saying when I shushed her by placing my hand lightly on her lips. This was not hard to do as she was sitting in front of my vanity mirror and plucking at her brows. I think she called the item tweezers or something of that sort. I have often told her to take her science experiment away from my room, but she always insisted that my mirror had a better angle. Whatever that meant.

“We don't even know if I'll get the job. Besides, I am just trying for the fun of it and also because I don't want to work in a food service area. I have met enough scumbags to even want to attempt to be a waitress or bar girl.” I snorted at the memory of my experience in that area.

“But, with your Art degree, you can work in a gallery or something.” Rainie pointed out to which Annie gasped and shook her head in disagreement. Our eyes met and we both recollected the same memory of when I interned at a top gallery in NY city. I came back home one day and was in tears. Hours after, I was already cried out and Annie asked me what happened. Only for me to say that I felt like my painting will never be special enough to be hung in a museum because it seemed no one wanted an artist like me. What seemed like a normal meltdown or imposter syndrome moment, turned out to be full depression and I couldn't hold a paintbrush for six months. I had to see a therapist to talk me out of that phase 

“No gallery honey, please. I have not recovered from that phase.” Annie said, chuckling a bit. I soon joined her soon after. Rainie looked lost and Annie had to quickly give her an abridged version of the story which had her in stitches in the course of Annie narrating it.

After some minutes of laughter, we all pulled ourselves together.

“What of your art? Don't you want to paint again?” Annie asked, concern etched all over her features.

“Of course, I am still going to paint. However, for the next four months, no I won't. I already sent five of my pictures from my ‘When it Rains’ Collection to five different gallerys and I am still waiting for their feedback. While I do that, I can't sir idle. Hence, the need to search for a job.” I explained to them while giving myself a once over in the mirror. I realized I wanted my lipstick to be a brighter shade of red, so I took a brighter shade and ran it over my lips lightly. After which I smacked it and released my lips to reveal the perfect blend of the color red.

Yes, the way Connor went about saying it was terrible, but I indeed needed a job. Not because I was in financial danger, because contrary to Connor's insinuation that I just lounged around all day waiting for my artist dream to pick up, I actually drew portraits for people on the side and get paid for it. Also, I also dabbled as a wedding artist that drew the most memorable moment of that day for the couple at the venue. However, these jobs were contract based and I needed something that would take me out of the house everyday. I needed to get my mind off the fact that I was expecting a response from any of these gallerys.

“But, a personal secretary might not...” Annie was saying when I indicated a stop hand sign.

“You guys should stop being negative and focus on the fact that I am going for a job interview today. I need you guys to wish me luck instead of bothering about insignificant things.” I urged them. The truth was that as much as I tried to act brave, I was a bit intimidated about applying at Falcon's enterprise today. That's why I needed friends to assure me that I am not batshit crazy.

“Alright girl, sorry about the whole thing. You just shocked us by saying you are going for an interview this morning that you applied for yesterday.” Annie said.

“Good luck V! I know that job is already as good as yours and you'll knock 'em all dead.” Rainie said in a cheerleader fashion that had me breaking into a smile immediately. I could feel the pent up nerves ebb away slowly.

“Yes, you got this! Remember, you don't need the job. Rather, the job needs you and if they fail to see that, then it's their fault that someone as amazing as you didn't get the job.” Annie hyped me up in such a way that I soon had red staining my cheeks.

“You guys definitely know how to make a girl special. Anyway, I'll be going right now. Don't want to get there late and show any form of unseriousness.” With that said, I picked up my black handbag off the bed and bid them to goodbye.

I got a taxi to the company. As I was avoiding getting there late, I knew a bus was out of it because they sometimes came later than the speculated time of arrival at the terminals.  On the drive there I revised sample interview questions I got off the internet. I tried to keep my voice stable and reflect confidence. As someone interviewing for the post of a P.A, I knew that confidence was one major key element.

When I got dropped off at the main office building, I took a deep breath and stared at the mesmerizing, yet intimidating building. I suddenly had the urge to get back inside the taxi and ask him to drive me back home. But because I wasn't a quitter, I stood rooted in the spot, and decided to see this all the way through.

“Hello, I am Candidate 444 applying for the position of Personal Assistant today.” I said in a cheerily voice to the receptionist at the front desk. She looked up from the laptop, a landline phone off the hook and her lips twisted in what I interpreted as  pity.

“Just get into that elevator at the far end of this hallway. Press 24 and it'll take you to the twenty-fourth floor where the interview is taking place.” She said with a smile on her face. When I first saw her, she looked like she was going to be mean. I know it's me stereotyping a certain type of people, but whenever I see receptionist around the age twenty-five to twenty-eight as receptionist in big corporations, I actually assume that they are bitchy and most times I am always right on that front. Thank goodness this lady seemed like one of the few exceptions. I looked at her name tag and it read ‘Lillian.’  I ensured I had her name memorized in case I actually got a job here, I needed to know at least one person that seemed like a friendly face in order to survive.

“Thank you so much.” I said.

“Goodluck! You'll certainly need it for that interview.” She whispered to me and slid in a toffee from the complimentary sweet basket on her table.

I grinned and hurried to the elevator. I got in with two people and struggled not to tap my feet in anxiety. Didn't want them looking at me like I was a maniac.

When I got to the twenty-fourth floor, I was directed by that floor receptionist to the waiting area. As I sat down there, more people kept trooping in. The more I heard them practice, the more I became less confident. I overhead one lady say she went to language school just for this job. I realized how some people had been preparing for this opportunity all their lives and then there is me, that just applied on a whim yesterday. What was I even thinking? I was definitely not cut out for this job.

With that conviction, I stood up and made an attempt to leave when the office door opened and a lady came out and said, “Candidate 444, we'll have you now.”

My eyes almost bugged out of the sockets. Should I answer or should I pretend I wasn't here even though I had a big Candidate 444 tagged on my chest that I was given by the floor's receptionist?

“Hey, aren't you the one?” My neighbor touched me lightly.Yes, way to state the obvious. I thought, eyeing her wearily.

“Are you coming in for the interview?” The lady asked, her gaze now directed at me. I could feel ten pairs of eyes on me, possibly thinking who was this weirdo?

I bobbed my head in reply, not trusting my speech.

When I got into the large office where three panel members were seated at the front with a single chair facing their's.

“Please, have a seat.” The lady who walked me into the room directed me as she pointed at the seat.

I sat down and looked straight ahead. The guy in the middle was scanning through my C.V which I hastily sent via email last night. His brows were furrowed in concentration as he nodded at some parts and frowned at some other parts. There was no telling if he liked what he saw or was disgusted by it.

When he finally looked up, all the words in my mouth died a natural death.

Was the Universe trying to play a trick on me?

I always laughed at moments like these whenever I read it in novels or watched them in movies. I called them cliche because it was absurd to me that out of the 1 billion people or more on earth, I'll randomly run into someone I saw at a bar two months ago. What were the chances?

“Lydiv, did you approve a mute for an interview session for the post of a P.A?” His deep voice brought me out of my thoughts.

When he looked at me, there was no hint of recognition like ‘Oh, you are that lady?'

“Hey lady, can you please open your mouth and make a sentence to put us out of our misery?” He rudely added some seconds after when I didn't disclaim his first statement, though directed at one of the panel members named Lydiv.

Did he really not remember me? 

What exactly was he playing at?